


Ambrose

by staticCathartic



Category: The Notebook (2004)
Genre: Cannibalism, Gore, Original work - Freeform, Other, Short Story, approach with caution, this is really awful to read
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-07-27 09:27:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20043703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/staticCathartic/pseuds/staticCathartic
Summary: I was in a writing internship over the summer, and I wrote some pretty nasty stuff, haha. Here you go.This is about living with a terminal illness and the public perception of the self/trying to prove that you're more than your genes and your cells.





	Ambrose

**Author's Note:**

> i put the notebook as the fandom because it made me put something lfmao im sorry

I remember that there was a really odd house a few blocks from where I used to live when I was a kid. It didn’t stand out at all on the outside, and in fact it was rather more mundane than anything else. The oaks coating the house were rotting, and the roof was shattered like broken glass in an earthquake. It looked disgusting. 

My friends and I always avoided it. We biked past it most days on our way to elementary school and back. It was that staple haunted house-looking old murder crack house that everyone knew existed and made up stories to keep kids out under the actual basis of “don’t trespass.” It existed and everyone knew it existed. That was the end of it. It was mildly disturbing to look at from the outside, but its presence was always drowned out by its sleepy small town surroundings. Nothing was ever out of the ordinary.  
Yeah. We still trespassed, alright. An awful mistake. Mistakes can be capitalized on, beautiful as they may.

We were a bunch of kids in our mid teens at the time; party of five. If someone told us not to do something, we obviously did it. Stupid of us, I know. What else we were supposed to do as kids? Most of us lived monotonous lives and needed a surge of adrenaline; a gash of relief in our striated muscles. Live free and die young. We were there to experience something new and break the law without anyone ever finding out. The house was going to be our new hangout spot. Gashes bleed and rot.

At a glance? The inside of the house was coated with marble. It was nothing like the shipwrecked outside of the house. It was clean. There was no dust but the shiny marble with earnest cracks making incisions at some twists and turns. It was elegant. It was new. It was surreal. It was a fly trap. Beautiful monsters drove me into it.

The marble shimmered in the dull light from the muggy July weather outside. A soft pop song was playing in my head as we walked into the neighboring rooms domineering with white walls splattered with glittering stone and weak, charcoal-accented blacks. Every room looked the same with some misplacements or additions of furniture and the arrangements of columns lining the ceilings and walls. The statues in every room watched us intently as we glided through each hall; their weak smiles greeting us as we smiled back. They looked back on me as I trailed the group of my friends, their eyes becoming holes that I could no longer escape.

We continued our pace until we reached what we thought was some sort of kitchen. Everything was marble again, but this time it was a soft red-like color. It reflected the light from the outside, making it look like the entire room itself had a dense, red air about it. It felt the same as the outside with the starkly damp and hot air, but we continued to give ourselves a tour of the house.

The slapping of our shoes against the marble floors began to slow when we reached a dead end. Greeting us was a singular statue of an exposed man caked in red marble. He was standing in an at-ease position and he looked over all of our faces, surveying our innocence and curiosity about the house. I shuddered as I picked my dirt-caked nails in the grim light. 

One of my friends picked up on the unease in the group. Frankly, it felt off, and we all agreed with him. The putrid smell was beginning to simmer in my nose and I hated it. When did it start smelling? I wanted to leave but the others insisted that we stay. Why should we stay when we didn’t like it there? I didn’t like being drawn further into the heart of the house. It surely had a heart. I felt it beating inside of me. Its energy was radiating in my ribcage as I felt its violent vibrations in my core. It was like a cat’s purr spreading from my innards to my sternum, healing and comforting me as it threw my ethereal body from wall to wall. I stood still silently as I watched my friends leave. They weren’t my friends. I never knew them. I hated them.

I looked back at the marble man in red behind me. He was smiling at me as I smiled back. I thought he had a beautiful face. I wanted him to grab me off of the ground by my neck as we would keep smiling at each other. I had already forgotten the names and faces of the people who came with me--no, I came alone. I came here to see the red man. He was waiting for me. My blood shook as I kneeled before him. He was going to tell me what to do. I wanted him in my head. He wanted to take my body and I did not refuse. I trusted him. I loved him. He was my heart. I felt his beautiful voice in my mind that made my brain melt. His lips did not move as he looked at me longingly. I heard the throbbing in the air as my limbs made me crawl to his legs. My heart had began to beat again as my body trembled. He was fueling the furnace in my body. My body began to feel cold as I touched my porcelain walls. The melancholy of my empty walls began to arouse me. There were intruders and they needed to leave. I saw them enter. I know where they are.  
I slowly tore off all of my clothes as I remained underneath his beautifully dull body. He was ideal and I just loved him more and more. I stared at him as I listened to his melodic and harmonious whispers into my feeble ears. My hands began to start to dig into my chest as I pulled out each pocket of air for him. My hands were covered with my own heart, but I was happy. I was making him happy and that’s all that mattered.

I stood up from my position and continued to stare at him in adoration. I felt the crawling of my stale and impure blood down my naked legs like tree sap. I trembled again then began to stumble away from him.

I have to remove myself from his view as I frolic through the halls in search for something.

Something.

Someone.

People. A group of them.

I know who to look for now. I forgot about them. I can feel their subtle footsteps inside of me, creeping through my own halls as I can smell their skin of adornment mixing with my own walls and floors. My hands begin to magnetize towards the sounds of their movement and I know that they’re in the next room. I see them through the eyes of my own statues. 

I began running running towards the collective of intruders. I heard screaming; chanting something over and over. I did not recognize the sound, but it sounded like it was cowering in fear and running away. I ran towards the commotion with my hands outstretched.

My hands felt something soft and sturdy, so I kept moving my fingers around. There was a ringing in my ears when I continued to fidget my hands in the substance. It was a shrill sort of ring and it was starting to agitate me. My hands moved towards the source of the ringing, but they were quickly coated in red. This red was melting on my cold hands before the coagulation then turned into ashes. The euphoria brushed through my skin as I thrust my forearms back into the source. I heard the shrills again and again and again. They were coming from right under me. 

These shrills have been crisp, yet long and dragged out. I took note of this and ceased them immediately. I could feel the whirring stop in my own palms. I moved to the next source of the noise and began again. The feeling of power overcame my knuckles, and my mind freed with the release of stress in the hands of my veins. I tasted the pure paste and residue in my mouth, the taste grazing my taste buds while my hands dance across my tongue. My lips were dry from the iron, but I know what I’m doing will make the noise go away. The noisy bodies on the ground were never welcome. They trespassed, after all. I will beat the noises and whining to a weak pulse. 

My screams drowned out the static noise. It has died out. I know the relief has come over me now. My naked body is completely covered in red. My skin glimmers in the dulled lighting of the hallway. I stand frozen in the heart of the hallway as my breaths start to wane. My body was slowing down. 

My fickle and poorly-paced steps echoed in the sullen hallways. My feet leave behind crimson footprints, sticking me to the floor less and less and the red of my soles depart my skin. Gradually, I begin to see the old podium. The podium, the stand where I belong at the end of the hallway is empty and vying for me to stay a little longer. It belongs to me. I am the master of this house. I place my feet into pedestal and stand tall.

I begin to close my eyes. It had been a long day, after all.


End file.
